


If This Isn't The Kingdom Then I Don't Know What Is

by cassandra_leeds (The_Circadian)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fallen Angel Castiel, Incest, M/M, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Circadian/pseuds/cassandra_leeds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know this is the best it will ever be when you all hold each other, layering like a pearl in the soft pink flesh of this room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If This Isn't The Kingdom Then I Don't Know What Is

**Author's Note:**

> This was, years back, completely because of the beauty that is Richard Siken's "Crush" and a sad attempt at his style and rhythm on my part, but I kept seeing it in my head.
> 
> This was a gift for Joe.

 

 

Let’s say one man, this man, is made of longings he can’t speak. Let’s say he kisses his brother because he can’t say what this is, this home he needs to make in him that won’t physically exist until he’s painted the walls inside.

So this brother is broad and strong as a thick brushstroke, but weak in all the pretty places. His younger brother is taller. Under him the way he is now, face to face (sweat soaking through pilling flannel, scratchy denim), you wouldn’t know it though. And you wouldn’t know if you were a stranger, who these men are. Maybe, somehow, you’d feel the pain that has bound them like a healed wound to one another. Maybe you’d feel their breath even from across the room – a whispered wordless demand in echo.

 

So they have a home in each other. Always have. They’ve just found the tiny print in the deed that says there are more rooms left to explore.

 

Years before, off and on, there were roads that led to hotels with different boys and girls passing in and out of doors, passed between you, washing up in the sinks, moaning  _baby_  and  _oh, god, yes_  because names weren’t necessary. You watched the evening sun stream over the window pane and lick up your brother’s stomach. He’s inside a girl with shorter hair. He’s taller than you when he looks at you and smiles like he’s saving the best for last.

It will be years of fasting before he ever touches you.

 

Let’s talk about angels and the angles they curve into when they are in pain. More importantly though, let’s see how they curve like a bow between two brothers. How they sound when they ask for more.

 

Castiel is not one of these rooms. He’s not an add-on to the house of Winchester. He’s not a home. He’s a bridge. He briefly spaces the wings of the mansion. And he’s the only one who’s ever fit like this.

Castiel isn’t explored, he’s carefully tested. He’s discovered by what he becomes when he’s slid between them like a lens. When they push into him, the room drops away, the light drops away, the world tilts. They can feel him breathing against them, feel his heartbeat deep inside holding them both.

More, he says, and it’s a prayer but not to God.

You are looking at your brother, slowly watching him unfold inside another man that you are also inside. You are watching because he’s the one that longs while you rage and he’s casting out his want over both of you. You’re watching because you will be there to catch the part of it that’s yours, be there to throw it right back instantly, Castiel between you caught breathless and pleading in the crossfire of this war where no one and everyone wins.

Castiel whispers their names and it is a confirmation that he’s here, that he is  _this_  in this moment. He’s a man begging for release, he’s an angel stealing time in skin that isn’t his. He can never touch Heaven again except between these two men, exploding over them in the hazy light of dawn, curtains drawn tight, mouth drawn tighter.

 

Is someone watching? Are you seeing this?

 

Eleven o’clock will find them naked in bed and noon will find them half dressed, fingers catching on buttons and zippers, mouth briefly on a neck to assure that they’re here, they’re all going together. Got your stuff? Good.

 

The day is a fever dream on wheels. The night is the brake light of a truck, red as an ember, an insect eye burning from the inside out.

 

Take this newly made man and fling him on the bed. Let him feel it again. You have all the time in the world. Your brother peels off his jacket and locks the door casually as you kiss the angel-man until he’s begging for it again, until he’s nodding above you, your mouth wrapped warm around somewhere unseen. He chokes out your name, your brother’s name. He reaches out, arches up.

Your brother kisses you when you come up and you know you are a new flavor to him now, you know you have all added up to new alchemy, you know it will never be the same again.

You know this is the best it will ever be when you all hold each other, layering like a pearl in the soft pink flesh of this room.

You hope you’re wrong.

You know it can only keep going for so long. This memory is just another death to beat down into the ground. But not now, not now. The dread is just another deal to break.

You hope you’re wrong.

 

One more time, Cas breathes out as soft as the hum of the from the air conditioner. Show me, let me, do it again.

  
  
  
  



End file.
